"I have no doubt of it," said Tom coolly. "It must have been a splendid sight."
"It was indeed," returned Frank. "But at last I obtained a trifling advantage. The artillery-officer had a cold; and I watched him anxiously to catch him off his guard when he sneezed. Egad! that was a glorious idea of mine; and it succeeded too;—for after nine hours' hard fighting, I ran him through just as a cook spits a joint. You cannot imagine what a reputation that affair gave me in Paris. Every one was desirous to see the young Englishman who had killed the best swordsman in France. And, after all, without boasting, it was a feat to be proud of."
"Decidedly so," observed Tom. "But you are too brave a man, Mr. Curtis, to indulge in idle boasts."
"Of course," cried Frank. "Fellows like you and me, Captain, who know what swords and pistols mean, are the last to brag of their exploits."
"Do you carry pistols with you, Mr. Curtis?" asked Tom.
"Generally—generally," was the reply. "But I did not think it necessary to take them with me this evening."
"Well, I did," said Rainford. "And here is one," he added, producing the weapon from the pocket of his white great-coat.
"Pray don't hold it near me, Captain!" cried Frank, reining in his horse with a trepidation most remarkable on the part of a gentleman who had performed such gallant deeds in resisting highwaymen and as a duellist.
"Yes—but I shall not only hold it near you," said Tom: "I shall also fire it—unless you instantly, and without noise, hand me over that pocket-book which you have about you."
"Captain Sparks!" ejaculated the trembling young man: "this passes a joke. Come, now——"
"I never was more serious in my life," interrupted Rainford sharply. "Give me the pocket-book; or——"
And the sharp click of the pistol, as Tom cocked it, sounded like a death-warrant upon the cowardly boaster's ears. In fact, he sate paralysed—motionless—speechless upon his horse, at a loss how to act.
"Come, be quick!" cried Rain, seizing him by the collar of his coat: "I have no time for any of your nonsense."
"You—you—can't—mean——" stammered the young man, "that—you——"
"Yes—I mean that I am a highwayman, if you like to call me so," interrupted Tom impatiently: "and so give me the pocket-book."